I'm not creative with prompt ideas, but honestly I'd just love to see Shaak Ti kick ass and take names. Maybe a challenge/dare made by younger clones who in training at Kamino for her to spar with several older clones at once and she just mops the floor with them? Bantering and teaching even then, of course. Bonus if Colt's there and is ... impressed.
“The general agreed to what?” Colt repeats, absolutely certain he heard wrong.
“A match,” Blitz repeats, grinning like it’s his decanting day. “With as many of us from the first batch as want to go.” He hauls his blacks on and does them up, then slams his locker shut. “Hammer’s down for it, and Havoc’s in. You playing along, vod?”
Colt scoffs, but some flicker of interest through the derision has him stripping off the pieces of armor he’s already put on. “I guess a lightsaber means you can never be outnumbered—”
Blitz laughs, and when he turns to face Colt he’s wearing the look that always promised trouble when they were in training. “Oh no, Commander. No lightsaber. This is hand to hand.”
Incredulous, Colt raises a brow. “The general agreed to go hand to hand?”
She’s a Jedi, sure, but she’s on Kamino. Colt's pretty sure they didn’t stick Shaak Ti with the job that’s as far from the front as physically possible because of her sheer talent with a lightsaber. Not that he’d really know; he’s never seen her so much as move quickly, let alone pick a fight.
“A couple of the cadets got her to agree to it,” Blitz says with a shrug. “Domino Squad, I think they're called. General Ti stepped in when Bric got hurt and now they're hers.”
Rolling his eyes, Colt picks up his water and follows Blitz towards the training hall. The general coddling a squad through training isn't exactly something to be happy about. He’s heard Bric talking about them, and even if Bric’s a bastard, he’s usually right about talent.
Jedi are soft. They're peacekeepers. They're not meant for war, and the one sent here least of all. She’s beautiful, and graceful, and kind, but—
That doesn’t make her a fighter. Colt needs her to be a fighter, if any of his brothers are going to make it out of this war alive.
“Going to take a turn on the mats?” Blitz asks, thumping Colt with his elbow. “Show her what she’s up against?”
“I’ll wait for you, Havoc, and Hammer to get your shebs kicked and then I’ll step in and save you,” Colt retorts, shoving him away, and Blitz laughs and goes. He hits the door first, tossing his towel to one side, and immediately makes for the ring, where Havoc and Hammer are already circling the tall Togruta Jedi in the center.
Colt stops at a safe distance, brows rising a little. Shaak Ti has always struck him as a picture-perfect Jedi, composed and reserved, stiff in her heavy dress and enveloping robe. Now, though, she’s stripped down to some sort of thin shift that’s slit up the sides, up to her thighs, sleeveless and baring a hell of a lot more muscle than Colt had expected. He eyes her arms, then the curve of her shoulders, and frowns.
“Get them, General!” one of the cadets whoops, and Colt casts a sideways look at him, taking in the start of a patchy goatee and the number five tattooed on his temple. Beyond him, the rest of his squad is scattered around the ring, watching avidly. All five are still there, which is mildly surprising; the trainers aren’t the type to let anyone skate by even on a general’s say-so, which means the cadets must be meeting requirements at least or they'd have been turned over to the Kaminoans for reeducation or termination.
“Really think the general’s going to win against three ARC commanders?” Colt asks, raising a brow.
It’s not the kid with the five tattoo who looks up, but the clone next to him. Perfectly regulation haircut, no tattoos, but the set of his expression is mulish as he turns it on Colt. “Absolutely,” he says, like it’s a challenge. “She won't have any problems wiping the floor with them.”
Colt makes a skeptical sound, glancing back towards the ring. Blitz is crouched and ready, weight perfectly balanced, and he’s grinning again.
“Ready, General?” he taunts. “We’ll go easy on you for the first round, all right? Best out of three.”
Shaak doesn’t look perturbed by his bravado. She smiles, amused, and tips her head. “Easy? Well. That’s very kind of you, Commander. And since you’re willing to go out of your way for me, I must return the favor.” She steps back, glances to the side, and says, “Fives? May I borrow your armband?”
The kid with the tattoo grins, unknotting the black band tied around his bicep. It’s painted, Colt can see now, with streaks of white and blue, just like Shaak's montral markings. “Of course, General,” he says, and throws it to her. “If you knock Commander Hammer out of the ring in under five minutes, he owes me double rations for a month.”
Of course Hammer would make a bet like that with a cadet. Colt rolls his eyes, but watches as Shaak catches the strip of cloth, then deliberately ties it over her eyes, letting the ends flutter down over her third lek.
Blitz makes a sound of pure offense. “A blindfold?” he demands.
Shaak hums, light and easy. “Once you stop going easy on me, I’ll take it off,” she says, and Colt watches the curl of her lips and gets a sudden, sinking suspicion somewhere in his gut that this isn't what he thought it was going to be.
One of the trainers has the saying, doesn’t she? If a bunch of sabacc experts sit down with a pretty young thing, and the pretty young thing says so how do you play this game, someone’s about to scammed out of their kriffing teeth.
Somehow, he suspects that something not entirely dissimilar is happening here.
“Sure, General,” Blitz drawls, and glances at where Havoc and Hammer are standing. Havoc smirks in return, circling Shaak with silent, gliding steps, eyes focused, while Hammer goes the other direction, equally quiet.
The cadets, Colt notices, aren’t saying a word. There's no attempt to help the general, no yelling, no shouted warnings. Just rapt attention, their eyes all fixed on her. Colt studies them, then glances back at the ring, and for the first time he really notices how Shaak is holding herself. Balanced, attentive, and she’s not moving, isn't turning her head to listen, but she doesn’t look even a little uncertain.
Then, in a blur, Hammer moves. He lunges low, while Blitz rushes Shaak from the front. Havoc is a step behind, holding back—
Shaak twists, and like she can see everything around her in perfect detail, regardless of the blindfold, she sidesteps Hammer, grabs him, and throws him over her hip with a limber twist, right into Blitz. They go tumbling back with twin yelps, right out of the ring, and Shaak turns smoothly, brings an arm up, and blocks the punch Havoc throws at her head.
“You have good form, Commander Havoc,” Shaak says, smiling. Just for an instant, Colt thinks he can see sharp teeth behind it, and something that’s equal parts hot and cold slides down his spine. “I've always admired that about you.”
“Thanks,” Havoc says, the friendly idiot. “Can't say the same, General, seeing as you’ve never shown anyone your form.”
Shaak laughs, and when Havoc aims a kick at her ribs she turns, grabs his arm, and as easy as tossing around a cadet who’s fresh from decanting, she flips him over and slams him into the mats. Havoc hits with a wheeze, but he twists out from under her grip, kicks at her ankles, and rolls to his feet. A step sideways and he lunges, shoulder-first, right for Shaak's center of mass.
With a single step, Shaak leaps him, lands, spins. She pounces, and it is a pounce, feline and quick. Colt winces as Havoc goes down again, hits the ground harder than before with Shaak perched on his back, and no matter how he twists and jerks, he can't shift her.
“Well?” Shaak asks, and her smile is still that perfect, gracious thing, an expression that wouldn’t be out of place in the Prime Minister’s office except for the look in her eyes. A predator’s intent, Colt thinks, and has to swallow. It’s not entirely chagrin or fear that’s pooling in his stomach right now. “Planning to tap out, Commander?”
“Karking hell,” Havoc says in disbelief, and slaps the mat. “That is a blindfold, right?”
Shaak laughs, reaching up to pull it off, and she dangles it in front of Havoc’s face as she slips off his back. He grabs it, holding it up to his own eyes to test it, and Shaak says, “No trick, Commander. Not beyond what tricks nature has given me.”
There's a moment, and then Blitz, still flat on his back outside the ring, groans loudly. “Kriffing montrals,” he says, like it’s an offense, and Shaak hides her laughter behind a hand.
“I appreciate your offer to go easy on me,” she says, amused, “but I'm one of the best swordsmen in the Order. Guarding Kamino wouldn’t have fallen to me if the Council didn’t have a high opinion of my skills.”
It’s not boasting. It’s not anything but a simple statement of fact, and Colt breathes in through his nose.
Guarding Kamino. Not overseeing it, not liaising with the cloners. She’s here to guard Kamino.
Maybe some of Colt's brothers really will survive this.
“Okay, out of the ring, Havoc,” he says, stepping forward. Shaak glances up at him, still with a predator’s eyes, but it’s measured, balanced, thoughtful. Restrained, like everything else she does, and for the first time Colt wonders if that just makes her more dangerous. “My turn.”
Shaak arches a brow, silver lips curling. “You alone, Commander Colt?” she asks, amused. “A bold one, aren’t you?”
Colt smirks at her, and the thrill in his chest might be anticipation, but there's every chance it’s something else entirely. “I'm not an idiot,” he says. “And I'm not going to go easy on you.”
Hammer makes a sound of offense that Colt pointedly ignores.
Shaak chuckles, but she steps back, falls into what looks like a starting stance. “A good commander steps in to rescue his men?” she asks, a gentle tease, and Colt snorts.
“Can't let them make us look bad in front of our general,” he says, and Shaak smiles like she knows what he means by phrasing it that way.
She wipes for floor with him, but it at least takes her a few minutes longer than it did with the others. Colt's willing to call that a victory.
Do you have any headcanons for Shaak Ti? Sfw and nsfw
I can't really think of any nsfw ones, but I got you for sfw ones!
-She's older than Obi-Wan by like a few years. Like she wasn't his crechemate but they became friends as younglings.
-She introduced him to tea and also taught him a method for calming down in a panic/anxiety attack (it was the 5-4-3-2-1 method and he taught it to Anakin and used it with him)
-She is designated mom friend, even before the Clone Wars started and she assigned herself to Kamino she was Mom TM
-Like she was so much a mom friend that when she said she wanted to be a Knight (and later Master) instead of a crechemaster it surprised a lot of fellow Jedi
-She loves tea, enjoys caf, and can beat practically anyone in a drinking contest or match them shot for shot
-She's very in touch with her Torgruta culture and whenever Anakin runs into a issue with Ahsoka that involves the fact she's a Torgruta, he goes straight to Shaak-Ti for advice and help
-She does not like working with the Kaminoans but keeps a calm and collected mask around them and keeps as many clone cadets as she can from being decomissioned for 'flaws' that the Kaminoans find
-She understands how important names are for clones and does her best to learn the name of every single clone on Kamino, and is always honored when a cadet asks her for help in choosing a name
-This last one is just because I find it cute, but Commander Colt develops a crush on her, and she quietly develops affection for him in return
-In canon it unfortunately never became anything because he died in the attack on Kamino before he actually told her how he felt
A novel that was only published two months ago, detailing the events of a Jedi and a clone falling in love while undergoing an adventure that changed their lives in order to save the entire galaxy. It tells of a tale that many have fallen in love with and are eager for more.
Unfortunately, this novel is also Mace Windu’s greatest headache at the current moment.
Why?
Well, let’s just say, there are details in the novel that are extremely similar to the same events he had undergone with his husband a year ago, especially with the part where they faced Palpatine, the Sith Lord who has been right under their nose the entire time. It’s not just the book that’s Mace’s problem, though.
It’s who made the novel. No one knows who made the novel, just that it's an anonymous author.
When Mace first got introduced to the novel, it was about a few days ago, when he decided to take a break with Fives. Said Padawan took out his datapad and began to silently read something on it, dark eyes glued to the screen, scanning it slowly, ever so slowly. Chuckles and giggles have escaped him, before Mace became curious and asked what it was.
That was his first mistake, and how it all began.
~~~~~
“A novel,” Mace repeats as Fives gives him a bright grin, tilting his head to the side as he reads the title. Heartstill, the title says on the cover, followed behind by a picture of two hands clasping together. He can see silver bands shining around fingers on both hands, the design strangely familiar.
“Yeah,” Fives says, the grin still in place, the Force rippling around his Padawan softly. “It’s surprisingly really good, and the main characters kinda reminds me of you and Cody.”
Mace raises an eyebrow, though he’s more bemused than anything. It’s nice to see that Fives is having something else to do other than their training and meditation. “Is that so?” he asks, hands the datapad back to his Padawan.
“Yes, Master,” Fives answers cheekily, then says, “You can read it if you want.”
“Oh?” Perhaps he should ask Cody if he read this novel yet; his husband did like reading.
Fives only laughs. “Better than having Cody steal all the blankets, Master!”
“I thought you can’t hear through the walls?” Mace asks with slight amusement as Fives immediately looks horrified at the implied meaning. It’s always fun to tease his Padawan, even if all he and Cody do is stay close to each other in bed these days, curling into each other’s warmth.
Small gestures mean more than the large ones, after all.
“Oh my kriffing god, Master, I did not need to know that!”
~~~~~~
He did not have the chance to read the novel until a couple of days later, when he managed to secure some peace for himself. Cody’s currently on a guard shift at the Jedi Temple’s entrance, and Fives is off exploring Coruscant with some of the other Padawans, clones, and a Jedi Knight.
When Mace settles down on the couch, he reaches for the datapad Fives lent him, flipping to the novel and relaxes as he flips to the first page, beginning to read what many have been calling a masterpiece.
A couple of hours later has him stuck in the middle of said novel, because Mace is staring at the same page for the past few minutes. Multiple reactions are running through his head to what he’s read so far. Throwing the datapad to the wall or ripping it up with the Force may have been a very near thing.
Mace hasn’t mentioned the leviathan to anyone but the council and the ones who’ve been there with him, which was only Cody. Granted, the name in the novel is completely different, but the vivid details, the careful explanations of their abilities- it’s similar to a leviathan. Knows the effects of being too close to one, what it does-
Grimaces at the crystal-clear memory of it, doesn’t shudder, but it’s a close thing, enough to make him put down the datapad and stop reading for a few moments. He closes his eyes and breathes, curls his hand into a fist before he lets go.
Several events he’s read so far in the novel are similar to what he and Cody had experienced in Dromund Kaas, far too similar for his liking. It’s... slightly disturbing, to read the same events that personally happened to him. Someone on the council may have written this novel.
He only reopens his eyes when he hears the doors to his quarters slide open, Cody’s aura flickering tiredly and fondly.
“You look like you went through Dromund Kaas again,” Cody observes with a tilt of his head, and Mace sends a small wave of wry amusement to his husband’s end of their bond. The clone commander only snorts, setting his bucket down and strips his armour before joining him on the couch.
Their fingers tangle together before they rest their hands on their legs, Cody leaning his head on Mace’s shoulder, and he can’t help but smile softly.
“The horror,” is all Mace says in response, dry. “But, no. Have you read Heartstill?”
Cody furrows his brows, twists his head to look at him carefully. “You mean that novel everyone seems to be raving about these days? I haven’t read it, if that’s what you’re asking, but I heard it was good. Why?”
Mace wordlessly motions to the datapad on the table in front of them. A few beats of silence, then- “That’s Fives’ datapad.”
“I’m quite aware.”
“Why do you have Fives’ datapad?”
“He lent it to me.”
“He lent it to you.” Cody’s voice sounds flat, though a note of resignation makes its way through their bond. “Is this because of the novel?”
“If you’ll read it, you’ll understand,” Mace informs him. “I feel like someone in the council wrote this.”
“Yeah, yeah. When I get the time to, then I will.”
~~~~~~
It takes a few more days before he manages to finally finish the novel.
Needless to say, Mace is more convinced that someone on the council has written this novel, considering they’re the only ones who have even read the mission report. It’s close, though. Very close. Too close for his comfort, really.
But who?
Thus, this begins the investigation of who has written the novel Heartstill. Needless to say, it produces a lot more headaches than expected.
~~~~~~
Obi-Wan doesn’t know what prompted Mace into thinking he wrote a novel. The sheer indignation rattles inside him as he stares at the Jedi Master in his doorway. “A... novel, you say?” he asks weakly, praying that his question will make the man go away.
One doesn’t appreciate it when someone interrupts their time to sed- take their husband to bed. Said husband is currently sitting at the kitchen table and looking over paperwork after their last mission together. Obi-Wan would like to have some privacy with Rex, thank you very much.
Mace only raises his eyebrow. “Yes, the novel Heartstill,” he says.
He blinks in surprise. “The one that’s currently raging around the galaxy? Rex told me it was a fascinating read. Why?”
When Mace doesn’t answer, Obi-Wan closes his eyes, lets go of his annoyance, and says, “Mace, please don’t tell me that you believe that I wrote that novel.”
“... perhaps.”
“I should be offended, you know I would never write a novel.”
“Indeed,” Mace notes dryly. “However, your mission reports say otherwise. It is fascinating to read about the adventures you and Skywalker have, especially when chasing after Grievous and getting stuck in a cave, and I quote, ‘After a few moments of shock, we were horrified to learn that Anakin have managed to release poisoned gas into the air, with mere moments left to live.’ Yes, Obi-Wan, rather dramatic.”
“I,” Obi-Wan says lightly like the negotiator he is, “have not written that in my life. Perhaps you should ask Anakin if he wrote that part in that particular mission report.”
“Perhaps I will,” Mace says, like he doesn’t believe him. How dare he. “Good day, Master Kenobi.”
“And you as well, Master Windu.”
When the doors close behind him, Rex looks up from the table, amusement lighting up in those perfect brown eyes. “Did you really write that in your mission report?”
“Rex, we are not going to talk about that.”
~~~~~~
“What.” Agen is more confused than angry that Mace would accuse him of writing a novel. He only tilts his head to the side, Mace giving him a flat look. “A novel?”
“Heartstill,” Mace answers, and- oh. That’s the novel that Dogma and Tup have been reading together during their free time, and honestly Agen doesn’t have enough patience to sit still for one novel, even if it does sound intriguing. “I take it you have never read it before?”
“Yes,” Agen says slowly, trying to make sense of what Mace is trying to say. Dogma’s aura flashes curiosity before fading away, and he focuses on the Councillor in front of him. Usually Mace would never bring something like this up unless it’s important. If it is, then he might not be able to help. He has no idea what Heartstill is even about. “Why?”
Mace slowly blinks at him. Ah. He immediately gets the message.
Agen doesn’t even know a single thing about writing a novel, and writing mission reports and normal reports are completely different. He can only look back at Mace and think that whoever wrote the novel that made Mace Windu chasing after the Jedi Councillors is quite a sentient.
“Master Windu, I heard that Master Ti is in the gardens with Tup and Colt,” Dogma says helpfully, takes Mace’s attention off of him. Mace nods a thanks to his commander and the doors slide shut.
After one long second, Agen turns around to face Dogma, and tilts his head to the side again. “What is Heartstill about?” he finally asks.
“A Jedi and a clone falling in love, sir. Why?”
And this is why he’s more partial to taking missions in the Outer Rim; Agen wouldn’t have to deal with anything like this. “How many weapons do we have left?” he asks instead, walks towards the couch and grabs one of Dogma’s blasters to clean.
“Sir,” Dogma says very slowly, carefully, like he’s about to step into a danger zone filled with landmines and slavers and droids. Agen rather likes that combination; the odds are good, especially between him and Dogma. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning to destroy another slaver base that belongs to Aruk the Hutt again.”
Agen deliberately chooses not to answer that.
~~~~~~
Shaak is smiling very dangerously, and Colt would like it to be known that his wife’s smile is beautiful and kriffing hot and it also means he should stay a few steps back because of what will happen next.
“Mace, old friend,” Shaak says with perfectly practiced innocence, something sharp dancing in her eyes. Colt swallows, and he really wants to grab her and steal her away to somewhere... more private. “Whatever do you mean by that accusation? I would never write a novel in my life.”
Mace stares her down, strong and unflinching. “Oh?”
“Indeed.” Shaak tilts her head to the side, a smile of an innocent predator, while Tup is watching the exchange with wide and fascinated eyes. Colt is also tempted to drag his brother further away so they don’t get caught in the soon-to-be-ensuing battle. “Have you tried, say... Kit? He really is good at writing those mission reports, wouldn’t you agree?”
The other Jedi Master looks rather exasperated and close to breaking something, even if his impassive expression doesn’t show anything. “Perhaps,” Mace says calmly. “You have a tendency to describe battles... interestingly.”
“Is that so?” This time, Shaak rises to her feet, and dips her head towards him. “Well, then you know that I’m not the culprit, my old friend.”
“Yes, I’m quite sure.” With that, the Jedi Master spins around and stalks away, and Colt can’t help but glance towards his wife. A look of triumph passes through her face, before settling into her usual, soft smile.
“Master, what did he mean by that?” Tup asks curiously.
“Oh, Tup. I just write... differently in my mission reports is all.” That smile should be illegal, and shouldn’t be making his heart squeeze tightly.
But by this point, Colt is a desperate man and he really wants to kiss Shaak senseless and make sure she knows that he loves her. From the sweet smile she sends him, Shaak knows it, too.
~~~~~~
“I did not write a novel.”
“Kit-”
“I did not write a novel,” Kit repeats again for the twelfth time as Mace stares at him. “I swear on the Force, I did not.”
The Force only ripples in response, as if offended Kit would choose it as a sacrifice to try and convince Mace. Disgruntled, Mace lets it go and sighs. After all, Kit has been repeating the same words over and over again ever since he found the Nautolan near the entrance to the Jedi Temple, delicately holding a bag.
His mission reports are similar to the novel’s writing, but also entirely different, and-
Wait.
“Kit, are those thermal detonators?” Mace asks with slight disbelief.
The Nautolan freezes before offering a hesitant smile. The grip on the bag tightens but doesn’t drop. “Yes.”
He suppresses the headache he can feel coming. Usually the Nautolan wouldn’t even touch a thermal detonator unless there’s a reason to. “Master Fisto,” he says, cautiously approaching the subject because obviously they’re going to be an occurrence, especially from the look on Kit’s face. “Who are they for?”
“Allow me to say that-”
“Kit.”
“-I heard that Master Kolar needed some more,” Kit continues breezily, and- oh. Oh no. Mace briefly considers taking Cody on another honeymoon to avoid dealing with this. He didn’t think this could happen, but... it really is happening, and he knows how Agen is.
Agen is oblivious to all courting attempts, and he’s not losing the bet to Depa that it’d take a few months for Agen to realize there is a courting attempt.
“I see,” he says steadily, then gives him a respectful nod. “Good luck for you and Agen. You will need it.”
Kit stares at him like he’s grown an extra head. “What- what do you possibly mean by that, Mace? Mace!”
Mace is already turning away. He needs to continue on with his... errands, not watch two of his fellow Councillors dance around each other.
“Mace! Come back here! What do you mean by that!”
He only walks faster.
~~~~~~
Adi raises her eyebrow. “Are you alright, Mace?” she asks in concern, because her fellow Jedi Master and Councillor looks ready to crush something close to him. She’s the only one in range of that, and she would like to have no broken bones, thank you.
Mace blankly stares at her. “You’re not the one who wrote Heartstill.”
“I did not write Heartstill,” Adi says, confused, and that’s new. Mace wouldn’t bring up a popular novel into the conversation. “But it’s a very good novel, I will have to admit that. Though the events are similar to the reports we received from you and Cody.”
From the unimpressed look he’s giving her, it seems that she’s right in guessing this is what it’s about.
“Well, Yoda wouldn’t be the one who wrote it, considering his grammar,” she says, and Mace closes his eyes as if he’s in pain from remembering said grammar. To be fair, all of Yoda’s reports are all filled with different grammar and sometimes, she has to enlist Eeth or Depa’s help in translating some of them. “Depa would have written something a little more exaggerated than the actual events.”
“That is true.” Pride and amusement flickers across Mace’s face before steeling itself back into his usual expression. “I suppose you might know where Master Mundi is?”
“Ki? He should be in his quarters.”
“Thank you, Adi.”
Adi finds herself more bemused than anything.
~~~~~~
Ki blankly stares at Mace, before he shakes his head in confusion. “What novel?”
Mace only rubs a hand over the side of his face.
(In all honesty, Ki is slightly terrified by the one-second murderous look in Mace’s eyes before it fades away and the Jedi Master stalks off with a quick farewell. Hopefully whoever wrote this novel that clearly annoyed Mace will live. Hopefully.)
~~~~~~
Eeth is very close to slamming the door right in Mace’s face and heading back to sleep. Look, when someone gets back from a mission that somehow led from peaceful negotiation to a full-blown civil war because of a single insult, they would be exhausted, too.
But Eeth is also a very dignified Zabrak (unlike Agen, who has a penchant to go straight into the violence and then offers sentients the solution of surrendering after knocking them around). So he obliges Mace and allows the other Jedi Master to enter his quarters, before taking a deep breath and surrendering his anger to the Force.
“May I help you, Master Windu?” he asks tiredly.
“How was your mission, Master Koth?”
“Fine,” Eeth answers flatly and resolves to setting the system settings to the off switch after this so he can get some sleep. “You already received my report, Mace. What else do you need, if it’s clearly not about my mission?”
Perhaps that’s a little too blunt, but Eeth has been running on three hours of sleep for the past two days and he really wants to sleep. Badly. One month of dealing with negotiations, a civil war, and then back to negotiations. He considers asking for one month of leave after dealing with that nonsense.
“Have you heard of Heartstill?”
Yes, yes, Eeth has heard about it. In fact, several of the clone troopers who have been with him on his mission had told him about the novel, detailing the romance of a Jedi General and a Clone Commander. Privately, he thinks it could deal with more outside forces that stops the romance from prevailing, but it sounds rather promising the way it is.
“I have,” Eeth says neutrally, tilts his head to the side. “Why?”
“I have my suspicions that someone in the council has written it, and I intend to find out who it is.” Mace looks at him with narrowed eyes, and he has to suppress a sigh. Of course Mace would think he would be writing it.
“I see,” is all he manages to say. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course.” Mace pauses, then, because Mace is a bastard, he adds, “Agen is being courted.”
His mind immediately stops at that, because what the kriff. Agen? Being courted? The most oblivious of them in the Jedi High Council is being courted? Eeth closes his eyes, slightly concerned for the one who’s apparently trying to court his friend. Whoever has the sheer boldness to do that deserves luck. “And who is trying?”
“Kit.”
Never mind, Kit doesn’t need the luck. Agen is the one who needs the luck, seeing how Kit can flirt to no end, almost on par with Obi-Wan. “I’ll take the next two missions for someone on the bet if Kit manages to get Agen’s attention within the next two months via flirting.”
Mace is not outwardly laughing at him, but he is laughing and Eeth doesn’t appreciate it. “Alright.”
Eeth may or may not consider kicking Mace out of his room right there and then.
~~~~~~
Mace is very close to finding the culprit of the novel Heartstill.
There’s only one member left of the council that he’s yet to ask; Plo Koon. The said Jedi Master has been seemingly smiling every time Mace passed him, and that’s enough to cause suspicions. Enough to know that his friend is tricky enough to slip past his questions and straight past his defences.
Knows exactly how Plo will act, especially when they’ve known each other in the creche, and it’s slightly amusing to know that Plo might do something drastic. Like taking in two Zabraks from the Nightsisters, and training them when the Kel Dor has the time.
Feral looks up from his datapad to nod politely to Mace when he enters Plo’s quarters with the code his friend gave him a long time ago. Wolffe cleans his blasters while Savage naps close to him. “Master Windu,” Feral greets quietly, inclines his head. “Master Plo should be in the Archives.”
“Tell that jetii of mine to eat, sir,” Wolffe tells Mace. “He told me to babysit these two.”
Feral doesn’t blink an eye, obviously used to Wolffe’s words. “You know that we won’t damage Master Plo’s quarters.”
“Last time you said that, you and Savage managed to nearly destroy the kitchen when I was looking for my jetii,” Wolffe informs the small Zabrak dryly, Savage already opening an eye to stare at them. “So don’t bother. Sir, just make sure he ate and didn’t break his neck down there.”
“Of course,” Mace says, bemused. “May the Force be with you.”
Feral only gives him a soft smile as he leaves Plo’s quarters.
~~~~~~
He’s met with the sight of Agen, his hair untied, tiny black dots catching the light when the Zabrak inclines his head.
“Master Fisto,” Agen greets, silky black hair falling over his shoulders. Dark eyes skim the bags, and he can see Agen’s commander quickly scurrying away. Ah well, at least he can finish this up quickly and then take Agen for a run to the gardens after getting caf for both of them.
“Master Kolar,” Kit says cheerfully as he holds up the two bags in his hands. He knows how much Agen appreciates the gestures of resupplying him with weapons that the Zabrak needs. “These are the flash-bang grenades.”
Surprise flickers across Agen’s face, before his eyes soften, even if his expression doesn’t change. “You remembered.”
“So I did,” Kit easily says, politely waits for Agen to allow him to step inside the Zabrak’s quarters. Amusement curls at the edge of Agen’s tiny smirk, and all he wants to do is smile back and wait forever.
(Depa is a dignified Jedi Master; so if anyone says that they saw her take a holo of Master Fisto and Master Kolar standing together, they are a liar. She did no such thing.)
~~~~~~
Unsurprisingly, Plo is in the Archives. Again.
“Ah, hello, Mace,” the Kel Dor greets with a smile in his voice as Mace approaches him. Plo is already taking out a datapad with a soft hum, a talon clicking against it with an echo. “Did you know how interesting Zabrak poetry can be when being expressed out loud?”
“Pardon?” Mace asks in bewilderment, a beat little too late.
Why is Plo asking him about Zabrak poetry? Granted, this could have been discussed with the other Zabraks in the Jedi Order, given that Mace has little knowledge of it. Though... if he can just steer the conversation to the novel, then he’ll know whether or not Plo is the one who wrote it, and then make sure no one else is writing a novel based on actual events too close for his comfort.
“They have such wonderful sounds when conveying it. Such as this one here...”
This, Mace thinks with an oncoming headache as Plo continues to ramble about the poetry, is going to be exhausting.
~~~~~~
“Plo-”
“Oh, Mace, I’m not finished with explaining the messages inside the poems yet!”
“Did you write Heartstill?”
Plo emits amusement into the Force. “That’s not the topic right now, is it, Mace? Now, as I was saying, there are some hidden messages within each line for each sound they make...”
Cody is going to become a widower if Mace doesn’t survive this.
~~~~~~
Cody finally finds his husband in the Archives after a couple of hours, impassively staring at Plo Koon with an exasperated look, though no one can tell unless they know him or look very closely.
“Master Koon,” he says formally, dips his head in greeting when Plo waves a four-fingered hand to him. Mace’s slight relief rises in their bond, before fading away to exasperation and fondness for the Kel Dor. “Mace, there you are.”
“Cody,” Mace says as he rises to his feet from the chair, gives Plo a look, before the Korun offers his hand to him. “Something urgent?”
Cody only rolls his eyes and grabs his husband’s hand to lead him out of the Archives, away from delicate datapads and apparently Mace’s current headache. “Not really,” Cody answers after a fair distance away from the Archives. “But you haven’t answered my calls for the past six hours, and that was before you told me you were going to find Master Koon.”
Mace stops, slightly turns his head towards him. “Six hours,” his husband repeats.
“Yes, Mace. Six hours. I didn’t realize you liked debating with Master Koon for that long.”
“Yes,” Mace agrees, dry. Displeasure flashes in their bond, before Mace carefully tucks it away and lets it go. “I very much enjoy debating with Master Koon about Zabrak poetry.”
Cody pauses, turns to stare at his husband. “... why were you discussing Zabrak poetry?”
“That is a mystery I would like to know myself.”
~~~~~~
Humming, Plo opens the doors to his quarters and steps in, the sight of Feral and Savage curled up on the couch in front of him, the Zabrak brothers sleeping peacefully. On a chair nearby, Wolffe is reading his datapad, his head lifting to meet his gaze. He should get a holo of this.
“Sir,” Wolffe greets, sets the datapad down as Plo walks towards him. “Did you eat?”
“Yes,” Plo immediately says, and Wolffle closes his eyes like he’s going to do something rather drastic. The clone points to the kitchen, gives him a glare that makes him want to smile. “Wolffe, my dear...” He stumbles over the next word. “... partner, I did eat before going into the Archives.”
Woffle lifts an unimpressed eyebrow before his shoulders relax and the clone offers him a tight smile and a grimace. “Sorry, sir, watching these two are going to give me grey hair.”
“I have faith you will prevail, Wolffe,” Plo says, and- he knows that Wolffe will be able to handle it, knows that he can trust him with these kinds of tasks. Wolffe seems to know it, too, judging from the tilt of his head and the slow blink of dark brown eyes.
Breathes, and his chest tightens when Wolffe flashes him a sweet, tender smile, before it turns crooked with teeth. “You always do.”
“I always do,” he easily agrees, steps forward to gently tilt his head down to press his forehead against Wolffe’s.
He watches as Wolffe’s eyes flutter shut at the contact, and a comfortable silence surrounds them. Plo smiles behind his rebreather, and it’s calming, to stay like that with Wolffe, Wolffe’s hands catching his and tracing gentle shapes on his skin. It feels like there’s nothing that can stop him from feeling this much.
The Force hums with approval around them.
Wolffe slowly pulls away from him, dark eyes watching his every move. “Why was Master Windu looking for you this time?”
Plo pauses, and lets out a chuckle. “Heartstill.”
“You should have never written that novel, sir,” Wolffe says with an exasperated look, full of fondness and contentment and other emotions Plo doesn’t dare to say out loud. One look is enough for the both of them, enough to last them a lifetime.
It’s enough for them both.
“Ah, but Wolffe, where’s the fun in that?”
~~~~~~
Anakin stares at the message in front of him, before looking up to see his wife and boyfriend going through the senators’ fashion choice on their holograms. Both are laughing at something he can’t hear from where he is, before he looks back down at the message again.
Anakin, whatever you do, Obi-Wan’s message reads, do not claim that you wrote Heartstill. Or anger Master Windu.
Why would he claim that? Or anger Mace?
“Ani?” Padme calls, and he looks up to see his wife smiling that beautiful smile, and Fox with his really cute dimple. “What are you reading?”
“Obi-Wan’s messages to me,” he answers, sets the datapad down and joins them on the floor to stare at the new senator on the screen. Anakin reels back from the hologram of unbelievable taste, and wrinkles his nose. “Okay, what in the karking hells is that? Are they trying to copy Sidious’ fashion of puffy sleeves?”
“Yeah,” Fox says, his eyes bright and his smile sharp. “It’s really not that great, isn’t it, Ani?”
Fox’s use of his nickname makes him lean down and gently press a kiss on Fox’s cheek. The clone blushes, looks away, and Padme giggles and leans back against him. It’s nice, to have two of the people he cares about with him, and maybe they can plan out a wedding to include Fox to officially announce him as part of his and Padme’s married life.
It would make Fox happy, make Padme happy, and he wants that for them and more.
“What do you think about a wedding?” Anakin asks curiously. Fox’s head shoots up from staring at the hologram to stare at him, his cheeks flushing red at the mention of one.
“For Fox?” Padme’s smile is full of vicious triumph. “I think he’ll look good in blue.”
“I look best in red,” Fox tells them dryly, but he’s smiling, and Anakin can only count that as a victory, as a vow to the people he loves the most.
“You would look good either way, Fox,” Anakin reassures him.
They have a wedding to plan.
~~~~~~
Shaak slowly blinks. “I will bet two trips to the ice cream parlour for all the younglings and clones in small groups.”
“I will ask that if I win this, I get to have a month’s leave to travel with my Padawan,” Depa says as she drops a couple of credits into the pot. “He always did want to see the ancient Jedi Temples.”
“Try my cake for once, you all will,” Yoda adds. Everyone present (except for Kit and Agen, who are the subjects of the said bet) shudders at the memory of the bug-infested mud cake (Adi remembers seeing a frog leg sticking out of one of Yoda’s cakes once. It was slightly horrifying if you have to ask her).
Ki watches helplessly as his fellow Councillors place their bets, buries his face into his hands, and lets out a groan. How is he the only sane one left?
~~~~~~
Six days of investigation of his fellow Councillors later, Mace wordlessly hands the datapad (that has caused him several unnecessary headaches) back to Fives.
“Uh, Master, are you alright?” his Padawan asks, furrows his brows.
Mace only nods and firmly turns around, hears Fives following him. He’s going to lead Fives to the Archives to make him read the Jedi Order’s history. Maybe the entire history later, but he’s not so vicious to inflict that on his budding Padawan.
That novel is a headache and deserves to be treated as such after Fives gave it to him to read.
If anyone says that making Fives read the Jedi Order’s history is revenge, they are a filthy, filthy liar. This is justice at its finest form, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. Preferably without Plo describing Zabrak poetry to him again. He still doesn’t know how he stayed there for six hours.
Now, for the bets on Kit and Agen... Mace is going to win it.
(Behind him, Fives shudders at the foreboding feeling of doom and hopes that his Master isn’t planning anything bad.)
((It’s only another couple of days later before Mace realizes that Plo didn’t deny anything and is left wondering if Plo wrote Heartstill or not. He still doesn’t have an answer.))
This is kind of an exploration of something mentioned in @thefoundationproject Soft Wars and in slightly more detail in March Home. Which you should both read! But to summarise, Soft Wars a happy Clone Wars AU in which the clones manage to defect and claim Concord Dawn as their own. March Home expands on that actual move. And this story goes into the ‘leaving Kamino’ aspect of that.
Getting all the Vode to Concord Dawn is, to put it very mildly, An Operation. And I couldn't help but think about Shaak Ti, and the end of her guardianship of Kamino.
"How can I help?" were the first words out of her mouth, and Colt's body sagged in relief. She didn't think he had truly expected resistance, but she understood that he hadn't known. Not completely. Not for sure.
She could forgive him his doubt. She'd been a Jedi for decades. She'd been the vode's only a couple of years.
Mermay: shaak ti hunter style long teeth mermaid rescues either jango or colt and decides they're interesting enough not to eat.
“You know,” Shaak says, and watches the man jerk upright with wide eyes. She smiles careful not to show teeth, and pulls herself out of the water just enough to fold her arms on the stone, resting her chin on them.
“You know,” she says, now that she has his attention, those pretty earth-brown eyes fixed on her, “I usually eat Men like you.”
The sailor doesn’t move for a long, long moment, eyes, tracing over what he can see of her. His breath is coming fast, even if he’s already controlling it, and his hand twitches towards the sword at his belt. Shaak left it with him, of course; there's no chance it can cut through her skin, after all. Not unless he’s very motivated.
“If you eat sailors, why the hell am I still alive?” he asks harshly. “The rest of my crew—”
Shaak tips her head, then uncurls her arms, sets her hands flat on the stone. With a heave, she hauls herself up and out of the water, settling on the floor of the sea cave with her meters of tail still curling in the pool. She hears the man’s breath catch, sharp and loud, and gives him a smile, pleased by the reaction.
This time, she doesn’t bother to hide her teeth.
“You were thrown overboard,” she says, and leans in, long talons scraping against the stone, lekku curling beside her hands as she looks up at him.
The man stares at her, then swallows and looks away, rubbing his hands over his face. “Kriffing pirates,” he says disgustedly. “They took the ship?”
“And your men,” Shaak confirms. She had considered eating the pirate that the man had managed to kill before they took him, because it was such a nice gift, but—well. More important things had occupied her attention.
Grief twists his face, along with anger; they vibrate over Shaak's senses, and she’s a hunter, is used to fear and rage, but they still make her lekku curl uncomfortable, the sensations sharp against her nerves. The man usually smiles, laughs in between the sharpness; he’s kind to the cabin boys, and fond of his men, and that’s the first thing that caught her attention when she was following his ship. This now is all sharp, though, all rough, and she wants to reach for him.
“Sithing hells,” the man says, and curls forward, burying his face in his hands. “All of them? Were any…”
Carefully, Shaak pulls herself a little closer, the slide easy across the slick stone. “No one else was dumped in the ocean,” she says. “I would have smelled them.”
“You sure your kin didn’t eat them?” the man challenges, and this time his anger is al aimed at Shaak, a bared blade.
It’s not really meant for her, though, so Shaak brushes it away, lets it fade as she watches him with calm understanding. It takes a long moment, but he looks away, shoulders dipping, expression twisting, and Shaak leans in. She lays a hand on his shoulder, careful of her claws, and says, “I have no kin in these waters, sailor. There is only me.”
“Colt,” the man says, raising his head again. He looks her over, eyes lingering on her red skin, her white markings, the blue of her montrals and lekku. He takes a breath, then smiles, wry, and says, “Things in the ocean that are as pretty as you are usually poisonous.”
Shaak laughs, leaning in. She traces a knuckle down his chest, the open white shirt revealing skin. “I didn’t think your kind would find my kind attractive,” she says, amused.
“So you're not poisonous?” Colt asks, raising a brow at her.
Humming, Shaak reaches up, and skims a curious hand over his short buzz of black hair. “It doesn’t just mean poison,” she says. “Just as often, it means danger.”
“No need to ask if you're dangerous,” Colt says, a little rueful. He pulls her hand away, turning it over to look at it, and then glances up to hold her gaze. “Why’d you save me?” he asks.
“Because you were interesting,” Shaak says, and lets him draw his thumb up the markings on her arm, tracing the muscle. “You are dangerous as well, but you can be kind with the young ones.”
Colt pauses, expression darkening, and he closes his eyes. “Those pirate bastards will execute them,” he says, ragged. “Fives, and Hevy, and all the rest. They're going to take them back to their base, string them up, and turn them into a warning for the navy.”
Shaak frowns, pulling back. “They would be so cruel?” she asks with concern, and Colt laughs, bitter and sharp as brackish water.
“They're not like you,” he says, and his hands settle at her waist, thumbs brushing the spot where smooth red skin turns to tough red-and-silver hide. Shaak shivers at the feeling, and Colt catches it, watching her with dark eyes.
“Not like me?” Shaak asks, tilting her head. “But you hunt both of us.”
“Yeah,” Colt says, “but they don’t just kill because they're hungry.”
Shaak doesn’t even have to consider. She smiles, with teeth, and says, “I know where they go, when they have captives.”
Colt stills, and his eyes widen. “You do?” he echoes, and pulls back to look at her. “But—it’s hidden, with Dooku's magics—”
Shaak laughs, and this smile is all teeth, more threat than anything else. “Dooku is just a Man,” she says. “My kind has roamed the oceans since long before the ancestors of Man first climbed down from their trees and stood on two feet. I do not fear him.”
“No,” Colt says, barely a breath, and there's something in his face that Shaak can't read. “I guess you don’t. The stories—your kind being sorcerers, that’s true?”
Shaak chuckles. “In a way,” she says. “It takes study, and I have studied.” She pauses, studying the lines in his face, the wear of concern, the fear, and feels herself soften. Reaching up, she curves a hand around his cheek, then leans in, pressing her lips to his forehead.
“Rest, Colt,” she says. “When the tide turns, we may leave to find your men.”
Broad fingers find hers, and Colt brings his hands together, hers caught in the cup of them. He stares at her for a long moment, then breathes out, leaning down to lay a kiss across her knuckles. “What can I call you?” he asks, glancing up at her. “You saved me, and you're going to save my men, but I don’t have anything to give you in return—”
Shaak shakes her head, twisting her hands to lace their fingers together, red and brown. “I'm Shaak, and I don’t ask for a reward,” she says, and smiles at him. “I told you. I usually eat men like you. But you're different. And seeing that is reward enough for me.”
“I think the sea just made me the luckiest man alive,” Colt says roughly, and closes the space between them to kiss her, hard and desperate and rough.
Shaak kisses back, soothing and steady, and drags him down to the slick stone floor to keep him occupied until the tide shifts.
Shaak Ti and Colt, rescuing shiny troopers/clone cadets?
“This was supposed to be a training mission,” Colt says grimly, checking his blaster and then slinging it over his back. Checks his vibroblades, too, and Shaak hides a quick smile behind one hand while he’s distracted. He already is carrying more weaponry than Blitz and Havoc combined, but—
Well. Colt is a rough man, but he shows his care in his own way.
“No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” she says, calm, and lets her robe slip from her shoulders, then deftly removes her heavy overskirt and leaves it on one of the transport’s seats.
“There wasn’t supposed to be an enemy,” Colt mutters, but he gives her a sideways look, frowning faintly. “You're sure you can do this?”
“No faith in me, Commander?” Shaak counters, raising a brow. When Colt rolls his eyes, she chuckles, then says, “I'm sure. Havoc?”
“We’re over the drop zone,” Havoc answers from the pilot’s seat, and there's a groan of gears as the rear ramp starts to descend. “This is as low as I can get without getting taken out by that cannon, General, sorry.”
“This is more than low enough,” Shaak says, and steps up to the edge of the ramp. Below, she can see the flashes of blaster-fire in the early morning dimness, the moving ranks of the droids closing in on the camp full of cadets.
This world was supposed to be uninhabited, but someone learned that it was a training ground for clones, and decided to take advantage. Shaak doesn’t like that very much.
A heavy footstep behind her has her reaching out, and Colt takes her hand, steps up close. He anchors an arm around her waist, gripping tightly, and says, “Jetpacks don’t work well at this altitude.”
“I won't drop you, Colt,” Shaak says gently.
Colt's smile is crooked. “I know. I'm just reminding myself that Jedi have somehow managed to perfect transmissible recklessness, and even I'm not immune.”
Shaak raises a brow at him, amused. “We encourage lateral thinking and a certain willingness to improvise,” she says mildly.
“Yeah, recklessness,” Colt mutters, and pulls his helmet on. “Get us down far enough, then get clear so I can fire my jetpack. And don’t run off. I know you're an army all on your own, but think of my stress levels.”
“The real reason you shave your hair,” Shaak murmurs. “Not to thwart my plans, but to hide the grey. I should have known.”
In retaliation, Colt curls his fingers around her lek, gives it a light tug that washes heat through her like fractured lightning. She hisses in reaction, and Colt snorts. “You like my shaved hair,” he says.
“Lovebirds, I can only circle for so long before they get a bigger cannon,” Havoc calls back. “Sorry, General, no offense.”
“None taken, Commander,” Shaak says, chuckling a little. She casts a sideways glance at Colt, and he nods firmly, getting a grip on her waist again. Reassured, Shaak wraps her own arm around him, draws her lightsaber, and ignites the blade with a hum of plasma.
“Ready, Colt?” she asks.
“Let’s go save some shinies,” Colt agrees, and Shaak takes two steps, Colt moving perfectly in time with her, and leaps from the ramp, plummeting down towards the grasslands below.
I loved Colt’s instant infatuation with Shaak in the hawks verse! And so cute that she was into him too! Does she like his bike? What really sells it for Colt that this is the one- the fact that she’s great with kids, drives his bike like a pro, or a badass no one saw coming? I don’t mean to derail from the adorable rexjon, I just love the way you write Shaak & Colt!
Shaak frowns down at her phone, tilting it like that will manage to get her more of a signal, and tries not to sigh. She’s very happy for Mace, finding a colleague practically resurrected in a friend’s kitchen, but the practicalities of any miracle tend to take some of the shine from it in the aftermath.
Though, she reflects, amused, Rex is quite sweet, and it’s easy to see the wonder in Jon's eyes every time he looks at him. They’re a good match.
With a faint sigh, Shaak slides her phone away, then glances up at the stars. There’s only a thin sliver of moon, and no streetlights this far into the countryside, but the nearest bus stop is only a few miles. If she follows the road, she can find it well enough, likely. This far from other people, she isn't worried about being attacked, either, and she can defend herself well enough if she is.
If she’d known she would be walking at the end of the night, she thinks wryly, she wouldn’t have worn sandals.
Before she can take so much as a step, though, there's a crunch of wheels on gravel behind her. Shaak turns, surprised, because she’d thought everyone else had either already left or was sleeping at the Fett house, but—
Colt is behind her, holding his bike up and frowning. His gaze flickers from Shaak to the empty driveway, and he asks, “Everything okay?”
Shaak gives him a smile, though she can't quite stop her eyes from straying to his bike. It’s a beautiful, sleek thing, a muscle bike with a stripped-down frame, the chassis a blend of matte and glossy black. She looks at it and wants, fingers itching, which is perhaps not the most polite response to have when Colt's been so kind all evening.
“Colt,” she says warmly. “Forgive me, I couldn’t find you inside to say goodbye.”
“Sorry. Cody's welding rig has been acting up, and he asked me to take a look at it.” Colt takes a step closer, pushing his bike with him, and asks, “Where’s Obi-Wan? You drove in together, right?”
Shaak chuckles, thinking of Obi-Wan’s boneless drape across the couch, the way Cody sat beside him so carefully, like he was afraid to touch. They're cute, too. They’ll just be a bit cuter when they manage to realize they both are absolutely lost on each other.
“I believe,” she says merrily, “that Obi-Wan has had a bit too much to drink, and I don’t know where he left his keys. The bus station isn't too far from here, though.”
“It’s four miles in the dark, on a windy road,” Colt counters, frown deepening. He flicks a glance at her skirt, assessing, and then up, and says, “I can take you back to Obi-Wan’s house. I know a bike’s not the safest way, but I’ll get you there in one piece, I promise—”
Shaak laughs, raising her hands. “It’s a Z-95 Headhunter, yes?” she asks. “Back home I have a Delta-7, though I'm afraid it had a rather rough time before it fell into my hands.”
There's a moment of complete silence as Colt blinks at her. Then, slowly, he looks her over again, more slowly this time, and asks, “An old one? Or the Delta-7B?”
“Old,” Shaak says, rueful. “I've been saving funds to move here, I'm afraid, and haven’t been able to upgrade.”
Colt snorts. “Well, the Headhunter handles like a Delta,” he says, and shifts back, pulling the helmet from the handlebars. Eyes it for a moment, then tosses it to Shaak. “Sorry, I don’t know if that will fit over your hair.”
Shaak left it relaxed today, falling down to her waist, and she makes a rueful face, but gamely gathers it between her hands and pulls it back as best she can. “Am I taking yours?” she asks, concerned.
“I keep a spare in the shop,” Colt says, tipping his head back towards the garden. “Give me five.” Pausing, he looks her over, then grins, and says, “Feel free to take her up and down the road. I don’t mind.”
Shaak can't help the flicker of excitement, and she steps closer, right up against the sleek body of the bike. When she curls her hands over the handlebars, her fingers half-cover Colt's. She can hear his breath catch, can feel the way he leans in just a little, and smiles as she raises her head.
“Ponds was telling me that your sculptures are going to be displayed in the largest city park,” she says. “That’s very impressive.”
“We’ll see,” Colt says, but he sounds faintly distracted, and he isn't moving away. “Some people aren’t fans of modern art.”
“Some people have very poor taste,” Shaak says, smiling. Pauses, and then adds, “You're aware you may end up losing your bike for good, yes? She is very much my type.”
“I was hoping someone else around here was also your type,” Colt says, a touch dryly. “Though I’ll admit it’s hard to compete with a Headhunter.”
Shaak laughs, and when he takes a step back she swings her leg over the seat, then straightens the bike. Colt is a little shorter, so the bike’s height isn't a problem, and the slit in her skirt keeps it from being too constricting, but—
Those are minor matters. The bike is beautiful, and Shaak traces her fingers up the tank and gently touches the key. Glances up, and laughs when she finds Colt watching her with dark, dark eyes.
“Jealous, Colt?” she teases.
“I think the bike and I can share,” Colt says roughly. “Assuming you're willing. Hell knows she’s prettier than me. Especially with you on her.”
Shaak hums, giving him a sideways glance before she flips the visor of the helmet down. “I don’t know,” she says, light. “You're rather pretty yourself, Colt. And I feel like you’ll keep me just as thoroughly entertained as your Headhunter.”
Colt laughs, a little sharp, all amusement. “I can definitely try,” he says, and steps back, giving her a lazy salute.
Shaak tips the visor up just long enough to give him a wink, then starts the entire. It purrs to life, and she hums with delight, curling her hand around the throttle. The bike seems to leap to respond, and she takes one last glance back as she hits pavement.
Colt is watching, gaze unwavering, and the look on his face is one she’ll have to inspire as often as humanly possible from now on.
Bruce/Shaak/Colt and waking up to a dozen identical boys faces staring down at him curiously let Bruce know what kind of day it was going to be. He hated magic. At least he had some of his gear and his suit if nothing else, and these kids were willing to answer questions. Aliens he could handle. Magic space monks was pushing it, but Shaak was... Perfectly respectable. There was a certain comradery between him and Colt despite the length of their acquaintance; resignation to the weird shit.
I LOVE YOU BUT I ALSO HATE YOU HAVE SOME FLIRTY CRACK
